Joy Rider
by Busman's Holiday
Summary: AU. It's 2006, Ste bunks off school to go joy riding in Liverpool. He's taken by a flash car in a carpark, not knowing it belongs to club owner Brendan Brady. Just a little short one-shot based on the premise of Brendan meeting 16 year old bad boy Ste.


Mint.

That's what the car was. Top of the range, expensive as fuck. Mint.

Leather seats, tinted windows, alloys and a beast of an exhaust. And Audis were a piece of piss to jack. He could do it in his sleep. Better still, right now – fag in hand, school backpack over one shoulder even though he'd bunked before he'd ever reached registration.

What was the fucking point of school? What was he gonna do with algebra and Shakespeare? He knew one thing, the bloke who owned this car didn't get it because he could write an essay on Romeo. Although maybe he did, what kind of stupid twat leaves a car like this in the car park of some scummy club in Liverpool.

With his sleight of hand and easy-does-it magic, a twist of the handle and Ste was sliding himself into the car, teenage freckles spreading wide across the dimples in his cheeks. He tapped the roof and keys landed with a clink in his lap. It shouldn't have been this easy, but it was. This car even smelt different, leather and aftershave not like the artificial pine and cinder he was used to. He wound down the window, revved, reversed and sped from the car park.

As he glided down the street, he wound down the window, resting his arm on the windowsill like he'd seen Jay-Z do once. Ash from the cigarette dropped onto the maroon sleeve of his blazer and he caught sight of himself in the mirror. If the girls at school could see him now they'd be gagging for him. Ste Hay, bad boy. He liked the label and the birds loved it even more.

He pulled over to a road parallel to the local park and rooted around in the car for anything worth nicking. Coupla quid here and there, sunglasses (which he tried on and threw into his rucksack), empty bottles of whiskey and something that raised Ste's eyebrows and made his nose scrunch. Condoms in the glovebox – dirty old man he thought to himself. Playing away from home probably. Maybe that made him a bit of a player. Or just a pervy git. Ste took those as well and tucked them between his geography textbook and his cans of cider. Fucking geography and shitty volcanoes. He pulled a can from the bag and turned up the bass on the car radio.

A little while later as Ste considered taking the car back, a blonde guy approached the car, slim and only a few years older than him.

"Who the hell are you?" asked the guy with a tinge of a Scouse accent.

Ste fixed the lad with a glare, "And how is it any of your business?"

The lad leant on the car, his blue eyes flickering with rage. "Because this is my boss's car and I wanna know who the fuck you think you are driving it?"

Ste grinned defiantly with his chin pointed upwards. "_Brendan_ let me take it out for a spin," Ste wasn't that stupid. He'd done his research – read the driver's license anyway.

"Brendan did?"

"Yeah, Brendan did. So jog on mate, yeah?"

"Brendan let you borrow his car?" the lad seem to colour with embarrassment, or maybe it was something else. Envy?

"Yeah."

"You? Why?"

Ste saw this guy clock his uniform, probably wondering why a lad in a school uniform would have anything to do with this big, important boss of his. "Maybe I'm special mate." Ste wound up the window. "Now see ya."

\x\

Ste wasn't stupid enough to return the car to the carpark he'd nicked it from, but not far from it so that the stupid sod didn't have to traipse the streets of Liverpool to find it. But it wasn't long before his plan massively backfired.

He was leaning on the open car door, emptying the last of his cider can into his mouth and fidgeting in his point for another cigarette when he heard a gruff shout from behind him. Without checking behind him, he threw his rucksack over his shoulder and legged it down the street.

Problem was, being bandy legged and having blurred senses from all the cider and a diet of crisps, his sense of direction and speed were severely impaired. Before he knew it he'd reached what seemed like a dead end and was just rasping for breath as an irate Irishman he recognised from the driver's license caught up with him.

"You!" he shouted, squaring right up to Ste, grabbing the lapels of his blazer and throwing him right against the wall.

Ste's back slammed against the bricks and he winced ready for the beating he expected.

"Tell me why I shouldn't smash your face in right now kid!" Brendan cried, his snarl right up in Ste's face. He even smelt of anger, hot breath against Ste's neck.

"I'm sorry," Ste whined weakly, eyes shut.

"Sorry? Sorry? That's my fucking car you little shite!"

"Please," Ste begged, feeling the man's knuckles pressed right into his chest. "I only wanted a ride in it,"

Ste felt the grip lessen and he opened his eyes cautiously, immediately confronted by the sight of the man's thick, dark moustache and the mania in his wild eyes. When his dragony, raging breaths paused for a moment, Ste felt safer for a second, watching the man's eyes shrink into a calmer blue, but his pupils diluted an intense black. But suddenly the mania returned and he laughed, cackled, teeth white and huge like the wolf in Red Riding Hood. Uneasily Ste waited in silence and then Brendan snatched a handful of his hair and wrenched his head up until they were locked eye to eye.

"Pathetic," he hissed. Ste noticed how he seemed to sniff him and whisper in a voice full of barely controlled violence, pressing his weight against him like he might crush him given any opportunity. "Trying to be one of the big boys," Brendan continued. He placed a finger to Ste's cheek and poked its hollow after tracing the bone.

Ste felt panicked, a suffocating threat of violence loomed in the air and he had no idea what this guy was capable. But then this bloke backed away a little, but not far enough that Ste had much room to breathe without his nose being filled with this suited guy's heady smell of aftershave and chewing gum.

The man's hands were straightening up his school uniform now. He pushed the knot of his striped tie up to the collar even though Ste never wore it like that – no one did. He rested his hands flat against Ste's lapels which made Ste feel that weird, nervy unease in his belly again.

"What's ya name?" he asked, eyes darting about Ste's face and suddenly noticing a bruise at his temple that Terry had given him the other night.

"Ste."

Brendan cocked his head to one side, tapped Ste's face lightly, before cupping it slightly to speak to him. "You're a kid Stephen. Go back to school. And if I ever see you here or near my car again, I'll kill ye!"

And with that, his tongue darted over his bottom lip and with a hard shove to Ste's shoulders, he pushed him out of his path and prowled away.


End file.
